cellar door

relivin' this half life yet again... n' i have to because it's kind of short... can't hope in the lines of endurability or persistence n' so i mostly live in patterns... deliberate misobersations sometimes give me a way to see somethin' new. n' maybe after some 20 years of consumed consumption of myself... all these flashes seem so distant.. it doesn't even look like mine... like remote traces of gun powder from some ancient silo... a bergschrund of memory or somethin'.

i'm a ferris wheel junkie addicted to myself.... addicted of bein' someone else n' want others think that's me. mostly scared by the matters of reality eludin' myself from my kingdom of ghosts.

p.s. visitin' places don't always mean you feel at home there. sometimes you're too scared of not bein' invited never again. n' i was thinkin' i could have been popular as well if the first choices took a day off.

strange night...

there is somethin' strange about this night... although i'm qualifyin' it so probably in the most inappropriate time n' you must believe me when i say so. the distant memories pilin' up once again or might be just the wideness of my sleeplessness. some of them looked so far... it was a little hard for me to accept for a while that every one of them was actually a part of my own life. it was a bit different for me to just think about all the times when i waited... n' rememberin' it was fun... probably more so because now... i don't .

people still talk like this... they do.

In every game and con there is always an opponent and there is always a victim. The trick is to know when you're the latter, so you can become the former.

It's very simple. You do all the hard work, I just help you along. The art is for me to feed pieces to you and make you believe you took those pieces, because you are smarter and I am dumber. In every game and con there is always an opponent and there is always a victim. The more control the victim thinks he has, the less control he actually has. Gradually he will hang himself. I, as the opponent, just help him along.

The formula has infinite depth in its efficacy and application, but it is staggeringly simple and completely consistent.

Rule one of any game or con: You can only get smarter by playing a smarter opponent.

Rule number two. The more sophisticated the game, the more sophisticated the opponent.

If the opponent is very good, he will place his victim inside an environment he can control. The bigger the environment, the easier the control. Toss the dog a bone, find their weakness, and give them just a little of what they think they want.

So the opponent simply distracts their victim by getting them consumed with their own consumption. The word "snake" springs to mind. Don't knock it. You only get smarter by playing a snake.

The bigger the trick and older the trick, the easier it is to pull. Based on two principles. They think it can't be that old and they think it can't be that big, for so many people to have fallen for it. Eventually, when the opponent is challenged or questioned, it means the victim's investment and thus his intelligence is questioned. No-one can accept that, not even to themselves.

There is something about yourself that you don't know. Something that you will deny even exists, until it's too late to do anything about it. It's the only reason you get up in the morning. The only reason you suffer the shitty puss, the blood, the sweat and the tears. This is because you want people to know how good, attractive, generous, funny, wild and clever you really are. Fear or revere me, but please, think I'm special. We share an addiction. We're approval junkies. We're all in it for the slap on the back and the gold watch. The hip-hip-hoo-fuckin' rah. Look at the clever boy with the badge, polishing his trophy. Shine on you crazy diamond, because we're just monkeys wrapped in suits, begging for the approval of others.

do not ask why... because we live in a world where we cannot afford to believe the truths.

And how do I ignore that I have seen darkness for far too long before I stared or rather made to stare this light where my first feeling was fear unveiling my first expression with tearfuls of cry making gibberish efforts of breathing hearing the woes of the woman who gave me my own birth soaked in her blood which I claim to be my own just like my life which is supposed to be having a story with colors and my inabilities to recognize them explaining all my lifelong attempts of reckoning time and awarding myself yet another glorious glimpse of its failure narrating the tales of hope without faith remorse without forgiveness rainbow without colors and a name without any claim.